


Completely Random Stories

by Sigilmancy



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-05-14
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-03-05 14:10:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18830263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigilmancy/pseuds/Sigilmancy
Summary: Stuff that I wrote that is unrelated to anything else





	1. Don't Judge a Book

The small bell on the door jingles as the wood swings shut behind me, indicating to the man sitting behind the counter at the far end of the store that he has a customer. He looks up at me with a knowing smile, face wrinkled by his years of life but eyes still shining with the brilliance of youth. It is an expression that says what the silence does not - if I need anything to ask, but otherwise to leave the brilliant sapphires to go back to the pages of the book in his lap, held open by long fingers and clipped short nails with the tassels of a bookmark sticking out of some far chapter that he has yet to reach.

Everything has a musty odor, but in a good way. It's the scent of books, of yellowed pages and faded covers, oils from fingers that have brushed the spines and folded the papers until it's all just one big ball of old that seems to hang heavy in every corner of the tiny store. I don't know what drew me here, why today I would suddenly deviate from my normal route straight home and finally walk into the place I had gazed upon from afar for so many days, but now that I was standing awkwardly in the doorway I figured I might as well take a look around.

Bookshelves reached to the ceiling, crammed full of all manner of tomes that appeared to be arranged in no particular order. I thought absently to myself that the place could probably use a good once over with a duster and a few days of closed time to reorganize it all but I quickly shook that away and reached out to run my own hands over a few of the protruding spines. Some gave me the chills, others I recoiled from the moment I touched them. It was as if I could feel the emotions written on the old paper with just the tiniest brush of my fingers, until at last I reached one where I felt....nothing.

Standing on my tip-toes I managed to slip a nail into the top of the spine and pull it down, the knowledge nearly falling to the floor before I caught it and looked over my shoulder at the shopkeeper. He was still engrossed in his own words, lost to some fantasy that was his and his alone, so I turned back to what was now in my hands.

A bland cover, black and hard. No title, no author. The jacket had probably been missing for a while, so there wasn't even a book summary for me to read. Still, I flip it open and stare at the first few pages. The name is there, and I think for a moment that it sounds familiar. Wasn't there a movie based on the book that had come out a few years before? I didn't think I'd liked it, which was probably why I couldn't remember so well what it was about.

Then another thought. What if the things on the screen were not the same as the words on these pages? Books were not made to be turned into movies, their natural flow is disrupted when that happens. The carefully crafted words that create the world, the descriptive elements that help make it so real to the reader, they're lost when put into something visual. Every person who reads a book imagines the characters a little differently. Sure they're all staring down at the same things, but their imaginations fill in the blanks, turn musty old rooms in castles and lush fields of wildflowers into a reality inhabited by a girl whose cheekbones are a little higher than the girl in the imagination next door, or whose eyes are more like the ocean than a sapphire even though the colors are so close together.

So I flip the pages, letting the feelings overwhelm me as the first chapter shows itself. Carefully put together, every last letter in every word a compliment to all those around it. Now I am no longer in the bookstore, surrounded by damp smells and dim lights. I am at the top of a waterfall. I hear its mighty roar, feel the spray of the water in my face and see in the sky that two suns are setting in the distance, casting their fire across the sky in a stark contrast to the rocks at my feet and the water below. Thundering hooves catch my attention, a rider on a horse is coming for me and I know he will be my death if I do not jump. There is no time to weigh the options, I must survive. The corset is tight around my midsection, making it difficult to breathe deeply and reassure myself, and with one last push of confidence my bare feet feel the rushing of air instead of mossy rocks. When I hit the water it is cold, my blood freezes in my veins and my lungs won't work. Still I manage to surface, gasping for air as I float down the river away from the black rider who stands stark on the cliffs above me, unwilling to make the same jump and risk his life. He will find another way around, I know, and though I am safe for the moment there is no time to relax.

The bell rings again. Suddenly I am warm, wrapped up in my coat and scarf, and the lights are dim again. I blink and turn around, watching an old woman enter and move to the back of the store while the old man just gives me another knowing smile. It was as if he'd been watching me, waiting for the moment I would be forced to return to reality. But that is the joy of the thing I hold in my hands. I can go back to that any time I want, and without further hesitation I purchase the book and make my way home. No words were spoken, only glances exchanged in a manner that spoke far louder than words ever could.


	2. In the Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For a bit on tumblr about how there's no real definition of what battles qualify someone to enter Valhalla, so I wrote about what I know best; depression and anxiety, and what it means to lose those fights.

A woman in her twenties arrives at the hall, and everything about her speaks to the fear she feels about her surroundings. The other women are no comfort, and she shies away from the men. Her arms cross her chest in a gesture to make herself as small as possible, though she approaches the old man who sits at the head of the table. He asks what great battle she has fought that she should end up in a hall full of great warriors, and for a moment she is silent.

Then in a gesture of defeat she holds out her arms, showing scars both new and old and what remains of the wounds she inflicted upon herself that caused her death. The battle she lost was to her own mental illness. To the depression and anxiety so severe that she felt the only recourse to escape these problems was death. Her tale is one of a life lived in fear, told by those around her that she was a failure. Abandoned by the family that was supposed to love and support her, because she was not what they wanted her to be. She tried to be her own person, but between jobs and bosses that didn’t care about her mental health and the constant stress of a world that let her slip through the cracks it was just too much. The people she reached out to for help did nothing or told her that without money she did not have they could not help her. At every turn seeking help for the battle she fought this woman was denied, turned away, and left to suffer until finally there was no more fight left in her.

And when her tale is done the hall is silent, and she falls to the floor weeping. For what has she done to earn a place in the hall of great warriors? In her mind she is not worthy, because after a lifetime of being told she is a failure and will never amount to anything surely this is some mistake. The old man stands and approaches gently to offer a hand, waiting until she takes it and helping her to her feet. He smiles, and though tears still stream from the corners of her eyes there is finally a glimmer of hope behind the sadness. She knows that here she can find acceptance, and he will make sure of it. Because this is a battle she should never have had to fight on her own, and one that there is no way she could have won without help, and though the world she lived in was less than kind to her she fought and she survived and that alone makes her worthy of where she stands.


	3. Family Photo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A side-off of a roleplay a friend and I were doing a long time ago, just a little story for some context to the main plot that I wrote and liked enough to keep.

Night had come, camp was set up, and someone else took the watch. Milo sighed as he settled down in the communal tent and closed his eyes a moment, listening to the sounds around them. Familiar breathing from those who had already nodded off around him, the soft crackling of the fire outside, and in the distance the slight bustle of the town they were stationed outside of that still had people awake despite the late hour. Unable to find the solace of sleep he finally rolled over and fished the small photo out of his pocket, the smile across his lips one of happiness while he stared at the image in the dim lighting.

A photo of home, of himself and his siblings and parents taken in front of the family manor where he'd grown up. It was a few years old, taken when Milo was still in college and had taken a vacation from school to go home, but it was the only one he had of everyone together even if some insanity had ensued that left a very strange looking photo in its wake.

"You're always staring at that photo." Maven commented from the sleeping bag next to his, smirking as Milo panicked a bit and tried to hide it.

"I didn't know you were awake." Milo blushed, not meeting her eyes as she stared at him.

"Can't sleep." Maven murmured, her smile fading into a neutral expression. "Thinking too much about what we're doing out here." And about the two that had died under her command just a few days ago.

"I'm sorry." Milo pushed himself up, grabbing the photo and scooting over to show it to her. "That's me, my brothers Connor and Mai, and my sister Amy. And our parents, Mara and Andrew." Milo pointed out each one in turn, glad to see that Maven perked up a bit and even chuckled at the craziness of the photo.

"What happened?" Maven asked, scooting herself next to Milo and leaning on him a bit as she inspected the image.

"I was home from college for a bit, and so were Mai and Amy. Mom thought it would be a great idea to take a family photo so we could all have one. Even if we were far away we could see our family any time we wanted. Kind of a moot point given that she's the only non-enklar, but we decided to indulge her." He tapped the black haired woman, unable to stop a small laugh at how the photo had caught the exact moment she had pantsed their father. Andrew's expression was more surprise at the moment than anything at having his pants yanked down, and there was a mixture of shock and amusement starting to dawn on the face of Milo and his siblings as their heads turned slightly to see what had happened.

"You couldn't get a nicer picture for the occasion?" Maven raised a curious eyebrow, trying to understand.

"We probably could have, but at the start we didn't realize the camera had captured this moment instead of the one right before it when we all looked nice. And of course my mother ran away with my father's pants, cackling like a madwoman while he went after her. Amy thought they were being childish, but the end result was all of us in enklar form in a literal dog pile on top of mom while dad tried to get his pants back so he wasn't running around in his underwear. We'd all been so stressed; mom was just trying to lighten the mood with her little joke. It wasn't until she had the film developed that she realized this had happened and she sent it to us all anyway." Milo shook his head, the memory of it always a fond reminder of home. "I have some better ones from the years since, but none of them contain all of us at once. And out here....Sometimes I need the reminder that there's still good in the world, you know? Happier memories." He wrapped his arm around Maven and let her find comfort there.

After a while Maven handed the photo back, and Milo tucked it where it belonged before laying down next to her and welcoming her close. What sleep they could get would be short lived as their watchman alerted them to an incoming threat, everyone scrambling to get up, get dressed and get their weapons. Milo felt his heart beating against his chest, against the spot where the picture sat, and he kept his calm as he thought of his family and making it back to them in one piece.


	4. Diana Party Intro

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A DM had a really awesome idea to have us all write about how our characters would be introduced to the start of the campaign. Sadly the time changed and I didn't get to be part of it, but this is what I wrote and I liked it so it's just kind of out there now.

People and civilization were new concepts to Diana, at least for extended periods of time. Yet war was threatening the forest she called home, and she could no longer sit idly by and try to defend the borders from within. She had to be more involved, and that meant going to join the army. At the point she showed up they were pretty much taking anyone capable, and while Diana didn’t come off as able to fight at first a simple display of magic and the command over Ravager, her companion, was more than enough to convince everyone she could at least hold her own. Mostly, as much as she hated to admit it, it was Ravager that did the convincing. The quadruped creature was easily close to two hundred pounds of pure muscle, long legs giving him a run speed that nearly put the war horses to shame, huge ears picking up the slightest sounds before anyone else did, and extremely dexterous paws able to grip on to most surfaces so he could climb and even shimmy along ropes. Ravager also sported razor sharp claws and teeth that ripped through flesh with ease when he was fed, and though he seemed unarmored his hide proved tough to pierce with most weapons.

With her acceptance at hand, Diana and Ravager had been shipped off to the war camp to train, meet their fellows, and be assigned to whatever duties were needed. Heads turned to meet the tiefling, lingering on her red skin and long white hair, her leather clothes and the feather and fur cloak sitting on her otherwise bare shoulders. Something about her was alluring to everyone, an air of confidence with each step of her bare feet as she held her head high. One hand rested on the back of Ravager’s neck, palm flat and fingers just curling with the natural shape of him instead of gripping him tightly like she wanted to do.

The air of confidence was all show; inside Diana was freaking out. Her Common was not that great, she could not read, and the great mass of people all around her was making her nervous. Too many ways to get stabbed in the back, literally and figuratively. Ravager sensed her unease and tried to make himself look more intimidating, which worked as most people gave her a pretty wide berth. Some didn’t, mostly those from wilder parts of the world like her who assumed anything smaller than them was not a real threat or held the understanding that she would only be dangerous if they went after her, and even then she was not the danger but rather the bonded creature at her side that was coiled tight with each step and ready to spring at the slightest sign anyone or anything would threaten his mistress.

After a brief walk around the camp Diana headed for the outskirts, the treeline that surrounded the entire place save for the road that went in and out to bring supplies, recruits, and other necessary bits for the war camp. So far no one had told her to do anything, and it seemed as if other new members were just as lost as she was. Some asked for direction, but Diana paid them no mind. She would not sleep in a tent, confined by the cloth that blocked her from the outside world, but nor would she sleep on the ground surrounded by strangers that even Ravager could not entirely protect her from. Instead she reached the trees and climbed a sturdy looking one, high enough to get a good survey of the camp while still being seen in case anyone wanted or needed her to do anything. Ravager had no problems jumping to the lowest branch, his paws wrapping around the thick wood before he hauled himself up in much the same way a humanoid might and climbed from there to find a place to sit near Diana.

“This is home, now.” Diana said slowly, looking out at the clearing. So many people, tents and fires and piles of boxed supplies. The sparring grounds, the officers yelling orders at their recruits, warriors fighting with sword and shield while mages flung and deflected spells. She noted how some tipped shields forward, clearly used to fighting those magically inclined so that the effects of the spell went away from their faces instead of into it, while others barely knew what they were doing and were being forced to fight those more trained in hopes of learning something. Eventually she would be forced to fight too, put her magic to the test and put Ravager in danger as he tried to shield her from everything. The thought sent a pang of fear and pain through her that broke her normal neutral expression, her eyes looking down to the white hide of the creature below her.

We fight for our home. If we do nothing this war will consume the forest, and us along with it. Ravager spoke to her in his comforting voice, the words sounding like animalistic growls and screams that were clearly not the common tongue.

I know. Diana responded, sounding much the same as he did. But that does not mean I do not feel bad. War is pointless, fighting over things so trivial as one’s race or the lands they own or whatever else these people think is worth the sacrifice of so many lives. And every life she took would be blood on her hands, blood that she would never be able to erase. But thinking of her home, she knew this was worth it. In time the memories of war would fade, just as the memories of her childhood had, and when the war was over life would return to normal…


End file.
